Weapon of Opportunity
by Lothithil
Summary: There's a new serial killer in town and he's making life difficult for MacGyver. Editing complete, with thanks to 'Beth!
1. Chapter 1 Protect and Serve

**Mac's Voice-Over:**  
_When I was a kid, I used to ask my grandfather a lot of questions. When those questions were about things that Harry didn't think I was ready to know, he would tell me, 'Knowledge is like a loaded gun, Bud; if you use it wrong, people can get hurt.' And then he'd answer my question __anyway__ and try to make me understand._

_Wish I'd listened better. As usual, Harry was right._

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part One: Protect and Serve**

_I remember those words of Harry's running through my head as I walked past the door of the police station. I had gotten a note from Pete telling me to meet him there, along with an officer called Detective Mahey. That was all the note said, but the briefness of the message set off warning bells in my head. _

**Los Angeles Police Department  
Detective Joshua Mahey, Homicide**

_That's what it said on the outside of the door that the pretty blond policewoman escorted me to after I arrived at the station. The walls of the office were made of glass and I could see Pete was in there, sitting and talking to a man I didn't know – presumably Mahey. _

_Pete glanced up and saw me, and in his eyes I saw that half-confident, half-worried look that Pete can get. That was my second warning._

_I didn't get a third warning. _

Pete glanced up as Mac raised his hand to knock on the glass pane in the door. Before he could rap gently, the man sitting behind the desk called out, "Just come in."

Mac opened the door, nodding to his friend. "How's it going, Pete?"

Pete smiled in return but didn't answer. Mac was startled to notice that even though the office was comfortably air-conditioned, Pete was sweating a little. There was a gleam of relief in his eyes as he took Mac's proffered hand, but it was obvious to his close friend that Pete was trying to hide something.

The man behind the desk was staring down at a pile of papers and photographs, but he stood and came around the desk to shake Mac's hand when Pete introduced them to each other. His grip was firm and he held onto Mac's hand for a fraction of a second longer than etiquette dictated, his wintry blue eyes examining Mac's face for any reaction.

Mac merely nodded and released his hand, returning the officer's drilling stare with a look of friendly curiosity. "Detective Mahey. Nice to meet ya."

"So ... you're MacGyver." The man returned to his desk. Behind his turned back, Mac raised an eyebrow at Pete, who answered with a half-lidded glance toward Mahey. He was watching their reflections in the glass panels of his office.

"I am. What's this all about, Detective?"

Mahey smiled. "Pete was telling me the truth when he said that you like to get right down to business."

Mac bristled a little at Mahey's implication that Pete might have been lying. He forced himself to relax before answering. "Pete knows me pretty well. He could also have told you that I don't like to be manipulated, so if you need help with an investigation or something, why don't you just come out and ask me?"

Mahey smiled and pointed to the only unoccupied chair in the room, directly in front of the desk. Pete was sitting off to the side, next to the door. "He did tell me that. He told me a lot of things. But I have some questions that I need you to answer, and that's why I asked Mr. Thornton to have you come down today."

"So ask," Mac said as he sat down. He saw the look on Pete's face shift from worried to miserable.

Mahey leaned on his elbows, steeping his fingers and peering at Mac over them. He waited a few moments and then calmly asked his question as if inquiring after the weather.

"How many men have you killed, Mr. MacGyver?"

Mac sat stunned for a moment, hardly believing what he had just heard. "_What?_"

"I realize that in your line of work, such a thing might be hard to keep track of – Vietnam, Afghanistan, working for the DXS ..." The detective's tone of voice was deceptively light, but his eyes were as hard as flint. "... so let me rephrase the question: when was _the last time_ you killed a man?"

Mac rose to his feet, spots of color high in his face. "I do not kill people, Detective Mahey."

Mahey leaned back in his chair, unconcerned by MacGyver's annoyance. "Sit down, Mr. MacGyver."

Mac sank back down, but the hard lines of his features showed that he did not relax. He resisted the urge to look toward Pete, who had said nothing since he had introduced Mac to Mahey. Mac could see his reflection in the glass behind the police detective, though. The strain of remaining silent showed clearly on Pete's face ... as did his anger on Mac's behalf.


	2. Chapter 2 Suspect MacGyver

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part Two: Suspect MacGyver**

Detective Mahey opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He took one out, laying it next to the pile of paper he had been examining. He then made a show of patting his pockets.

"You wouldn't have a match, would you?"

Mac took a deep breath to try to rein in his temper. He knew that the police detective was trying to provoke him for some reason ... and he wouldn't be able to learn that reason without playing along. He reached into his jacket to fish out one of the matches he had pocketed that morning, laid it on the desktop next to the cigarette and said, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't smoke that while I'm in here."

Mahey stuck out his lower lip as if in a pout. "I should quit, anyway. You haven't answered my question, Mr. MacGyver. Are you telling me that during all those years _in the service of the government_," and here there was more than a trace of scorn in the man's voice, "there was not one single loss of life for which you were responsible?" He flipped open a folder and ran his finger down a list. "Do you want me to read the names to you ... maybe refresh your memory?"

Mac returned Mahey's stare evenly. "I don't kill people, Detective," he repeated firmly. "And as far as working for the government is concerned, I do what I am asked to do when I believe it is going to help people. _Help_ people ... **not** kill them."

"But people seem to die, don't they? And a lot of them seem to die in direct proximity to you. Now, I've heard all the glowing reports ... how you help the helpless and defend the weak ... how you're such a slick operator with your duct tape and your paper clips ..." Mahey raised a pile of paper from the corner of his desk, considerably larger than the pile between him and Mac. "Here are the letters of thanks and recommendation, citizen's awards and all that hoopla. It's quite obvious that you have your share of friends in high places.

"But this is the pile that concerns me." Mahey closed his fist and lowered it gently on top of the smaller pile of reports. "Here it says that you are a dangerous man with dangerous friends, who likes to bend the law whenever it doesn't suit his purposes. Civil disobedience, breaking and entering, manufacture of explosives, interference with ongoing police investigations, and the noted ability to improvise various objects and/or substances to serve your need as it arises. Mr. MacGyver, nobody gets into that much trouble by accident."

Mahey continued to try to pin MacGyver with his stare. He leaned forward and spoke softly, "You people always think the cops can't touch you ... license to do whatever you think is necessary, up to and including risking people's lives, because you can hide behind the protective shield of 'national security'.

"Well, you folks aren't the only ones with connections in Washington. I've read your files, MacGyver.

The information available to a mere civil servant like me probably has plenty of great big gaping holes in it – maybe to protect innocent readers from the harsh statistics behind your 'classified missions'. But I can see through the censorship. And I don't have to look far beyond your public record to see the carnage."

Pete finally broke his silence. "That's enough." His voice was soft but it brooked no argument.

Mahey stopped talking, but his attitude was still belligerent. His pale eyes never left MacGyver's face.

Mac kept tight control of his emotions. After a moment he turned and gave Pete a grateful smile. Looking back toward Mahey, he said, "Detective, here's my answer.

"My grandfather Harry Jackson once told me, 'It's better to be sorry for something you did than something you didn't.' To me, that means that it's better to do something that you might regret later than to do nothing when you think that you could've made a difference. I've done a lot of things in my life that I regret, but the one thing I don't regret is _caring_." Mac waved a hand toward the paperwork under Mahey's closed fist. "If you talk to enough people, you'll hear any story about me that you could want, but if you want to know who I am and what I'm about, you have to get to know _**me**_. Then you won't have to trust anyone but yourself."

Mahey's eyes darted from Mac to Pete, and something seemed to pass between them. Pete relaxed and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and blotted the perspiration from his face.

Mahey stood up and walked around the desk, offering his hand to MacGyver again. "I'm glad to know you, Mr. MacGyver. I won't apologize for the things I said, because once you hear my reasons, I think you'll understand why I need to be sure."

Mac clasped the man's hand again, and the handshake was sincere. "What's this all about?"

"Detective Mahey contacted the Phoenix Foundation yesterday about a series of mysterious deaths that have been occurring in the city," Pete said. Mac turned his chair so that he was positioned where he could see both men when they spoke. "The Board sent me down here to cooperate with the investigation. However unlikely it seemed – Mac, don't take this the wrong way – the Board believed it was possible that you might have been involved."

Mac closed his eyes and drew a steadying breath before he spoke, "What makes them believe that I have anything to do with these deaths?" Mac's voice was calm, but Pete could see his knuckles whiten as he gripped the armrest of the chair.

"The nature of the deaths themselves," Mahey said. His voice and attitude had changed drastically. Gone was the abrasive and antagonistic 'bad cop', replaced by an earnest detective. Mac was beginning to appreciate what an effective investigator this man must truly be. "The only thing that these people have in common is that they had perfectly normal and harmless objects in their home environments … and someone used some of those objects to kill them."

Mahey spread five more case files on the desk in front of MacGyver. "These cases weren't connected to each other at first. They were all put down on the records as accidental deaths after the initial investigation. Then we began to turn up underworld connections – one victim had been a thief, another a drug trafficker; all hoodlums with unsavory lifestyles. Except this one." Mahey extracted one file and handed it to Mac. "Tabatha Carr."

The folder contained several police and medical examiners' reports, and two photographs clipped to the inside cover. One was an picture of a pretty brunette in a high school sweater posing with a dog. The other was a crime scene photo. Mac winced as he read the reports.

"It wasn't until this girl was found that a pattern was noticed. Evidence surrounding her death pointed to an attempt to disguise a homicide as an accident. After that, further inquiries were made into several earlier 'accidental deaths' that revealed them to be connected."

Pete stood up and read over Mac's shoulder. "Why weren't the connections noticed earlier?"

Mahey sighed and ran his fingers through his crew-cut style hair. "I'm embarrassed to admit it, but in the earlier cases the investigating officers didn't do as thorough a job as they should have. In their defense, I have to say that when they submitted their reports, I was satisfied that they were correct. Scumbags get killed every day: by other criminals, by their double-crossing accomplices, by their drug-using partners. There are just too many people coming up dead with not enough evidence to warrant a full investigation. But Miss Carr didn't slip through."

"Why was her case different?" asked Mac.

"She was found dead at the foot of a staircase, initially thought to be from an accidental fall."

"What made you change your mind about the accidental nature of her death?"

"Tabatha Carr was a stuntwoman. She fell down staircases for a living. I found it difficult to believe that she would die in such a way, and had the M. E. do a complete autopsy. We found evidence that contradicted the accident theory."

Pete sighed. "Whoever killed her must not have known her. Perhaps she saw or heard something, so that she had to be eliminated?"

Mahey nodded. "That's my assessment as well. We retraced her steps on the last day she was seen alive and came up with a loose connection to one of our victims here." Mahey pointed to the last file. "This fellow was killed when a window fell on him as he was coming back home after a lousy night of cat burglary. One of the places he tried to rob was Tabatha's apartment. She was home and hit him in the eyes with pepper spray. There's a transcript of her 9-1-1 call in her file.

"MacGyver," Mahey placed his hands on his desk and sighed. "Your name did not come up at random as a suspect for these murders. We received an anonymous message that led us to you, and the sketchiness of your records lent credence to some suspicion. I am satisfied now that you are not directly responsible, but it makes me wonder if whoever is killing these people isn't trying to set you up, either to take the fall or as a target. I'd like to place you under police protection …"

"Detective, I think I'd be more helpful if you allowed me to assist your investigation."

Mahey let a grin slip onto his face. It made him look almost boyish. "Mr. Thornton said that you'd say that. I wish I could ask for your help ... even if half of the things that people say about you are true, you'd be damned useful. But I can't let you do that."

Mac sighed. "I'm still a suspect, aren't I?"

Mahey gave a little shrug. "Hey, in this case, everyone's a suspect until I catch the killer."

"Or until they wind up dead," Mac added under his breath.


	3. Chapter 3 The Sidewinder

**Mac's Voice-over:**  
_There's another saying __that's been__ running through my mind: 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer'. I wasn't sure yet if Mahey thought I was a friend or an enemy, but he __obviously__ intended to keep me close, or at least __keep me where he could find me again easily. _

_Placing me under protective custody was a way of locking me up without using a cage. I wanted to refuse, but Pete asked me to go along with it. For the Phoenix Foundation, having one of their agents under suspicion for murder placed them in a hard spot diplomatically and politically. So, with me somewhere under the eyes of the law, __at least__ they __could __say that I was cooperating with the authorities. Should the killer – or killers – strike again, __I'd __be exonerated._

_The trouble was, I didn't like the idea of sitting somewhere doing nothing while someone got killed._

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part ****Three****: The Sidewinder**

_But for right now, I had no choice. Pete rode along with me in the unmarked car as I was driven to the safe house that Mahey had chosen __as__ my new home. Pete had insisted on knowing where I was being kept, and he pulled all the strings he could get his fingers around to make sure we had copies of all the data available on the murders. Since this was an active police case, the Foundation could not become involved until formally asked, and Mahey hadn't gone that far ... yet. _

_As a suspect, I shouldn't have been able to read the files, so I was surprised when Mahey agreed to Pete's request. An overflowing box of papers and photos rode in the seat between us._

_I didn't have the heart to look __at__ any of it at the moment,__ though. __I was trying to control the urge to throw open the car door and hit the ground running._

MacGyver had no chance to say anything; Pete started talking the moment they were alone together in the back of the car.

"Mac, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't want to bring you downtown like that, but I didn't really have a choice. Mahey wanted to send officers to bring you in, but I convinced him to let me get you to come in on your own. He insisted that you come in cold, without any forewarning."

"It's okay, Pete. If I had refused, it just would've made him think that I **am** guilty."

Pete watched his friend with a worried face. MacGyver sat staring out of the tinted window, playing with the catch on his seatbelt. Pete tried not to stare, but he was afraid that if he took his eyes off of him for too long Mac would disappear.

Pete spoke softly so that the officers in the front seat could not hear. "Mac, I know what you're thinking. If you give Mahey's men the slip now, it is going to look very bad for you if that killer strikes again."

"Pete, I just don't feel right about sitting around ... doing _nothing _... while maybe out there someone is being murdered!"

"You won't be doing nothing. Mahey's given us all the information available on these cases. We'll go over every word of it. There has to be a pattern to these killings, if they really are connected. I wish we could use the resources at the Phoenix Foundation to help. The mainframe computer would be able to analyze the data and maybe come up with some possibilities that the police haven't yet considered."

"Why don't we do that?" Mac asked.

"We haven't officially been invited to help in the investigation. And without that invitation, any evidence we uncover might not be admissible in court."

"If it leads to stopping a killer, it would be worth it, Pete," Mac said soberly. He was softly rapping the knuckles of his left hand on the window, a feeble demonstration of his growing desire to break out.

"You'll have everything you need, Mac. I have a feeling that the Foundation board will offer no objections to a little independent research project. Especially if it clears the name of one of its most prominent field operatives."

Mac didn't answer. He was thinking about the photographs that Mahey had shown him, of a girl who had been alive and healthy only a short time ago. It was far too late to do anything to help her. For Tabatha Carr, it was all over.

It had started to rain. Mac was staring at the window, his chin in his hand. Gleaming drops of water beaded along the pane like mercury. They fought their way up the glass, defying gravity, only to be swept away as if by an invisible hand. Light filtering through the glass fell upon the angles of Mac's face. To Pete, it made his friend's face appear to be streaked with tears. Pete coughed lightly and turned away.

As the car pulled into a covered garage, Mac and Pete were both engulfed by a comforting cloak of darkness. Before the car came to a stop, Pete heard Mac speak softly.

"Forty-eight hours, Pete. I'll give Mahey forty-eight hours, then I have to **do** something."

* * *

The sedan pulled into a garage and the door slid down. Neither the policemen nor passengers noticed the street sweeper that was idling in the middle of the block. When the door was fully closed, the sweeper's motor chugged as the gears were engaged, and the large vehicle slowly swished down the street, resuming its endless route.

The man operating the sweeper looked like any other city employee, though if someone were to inspect the contents of his lunchbox, they would find many unusual items there besides a ham and cheese sandwich. Around the man's neck hung a pair of binoculars. He removed them as he drove and tucked them inside his coverall. Using his teeth, he tugged off one of his gloves and dug out his sandwich. Taking a large bite, he drove with one hand, chewing thoughtfully.

Everything was proceeding according to the plan. Soon, MacGyver would be out of the way, the Police Department and the Phoenix Foundation would be crippled, and then he would be free to make this city his playground.

It was all happening just as the Doctor had predicted.

The man steered the street sweeper around the corner and into an alley. He abandoned it there, taking his lunchbox with him. The rain had softened to a mist. He casually walked several blocks to a park, where he stepped inside the public washroom.

When he walked out, gone were the coverall and battered lunchbox, replaced by an expensive suit and soft leather briefcase. He waited for a few minutes until the misty rain ceased, then he walked on, the dress shoes that he had switched his work boots for gleaming nattily. At the end of six blocks, he walked up to an anonymous dark-colored Buick and unlocked the door. The engine started smoothly and he signaled carefully before pulling into traffic. On the rear bumper, a passerby might have noticed a City Employee parking permit.

He drove to his office, less than a block from the same branch of the Police Department where MacGyver and Detective Mahey had first met. He parked in an available space, left his car, and walked up to the building, looking as ordinary as any man going to work. At the front door, he paused before opening it. The words 'Office of Social Services', followed by a list of names, were etched on the glass. The man removed a handkerchief and carefully rubbed off a smudge over the name 'Dennis Winder'. Then he smiled and went inside.

"Mr. Winder." The man looked up as the receptionist called his name. She was holding several slips of paper out toward him. "Your messages, sir."

"Thank you, Darcelle."

He went into his office and locked the door behind him. He leafed through the messages, then dropped them on his desk. He circled the desk and carefully unlocked a drawer. Inside lay a notepad and a thick book. He removed these items and placed them on the desk. Then he picked up the phone and rang the receptionist.

"Darcelle, call and cancel all my appointments today, please."

"Mr. Winder, are you sure you want me to do that? I've already rescheduled your appointments twice."

A look of anger spasmed across the man's face, but he swiftly controlled it. On the phone, his voice as was smooth and sincere as always. "Yes, Darcelle. I have some important research to conduct. This must take priority."

"Very well, sir."

Dennis Winder picked up the book and sat back in his chair. There were several tags on the well-worn pages, bookmarks and notes peeking from between the leaves. He opened it reverently and began to read.

On the back of the book was the author's photograph. He would have looked distinguished, in his late fifties with thinning hair and a trimmed beard shot through with gray and white, but for the lazy eye that gave him a slightly demented look. The title of the book read 'Applied Logic For A Better World', by Dr. Zito.


	4. Chapter 4 Windows of Opportunity

**Mac's Voice-over:**  
_Okay, I know I told Pete that I'd give it two days, but ... after reading through all the police reports and the files that Mahey sent over, something was nagging at me and I wasn't going to be able to sort it out sitting on my butt in a safe house. So when the shift changed and the new officer settled down in front of the TV to watch the late late show, I eased the window open and slipped out onto the ledge._

_Someone must have known that I didn't like heights, when they picked this place ..._

**Weapon of Opportunity  
****Part Four: Windows of Opportunity**

Mac closed his eyes against the dizziness that assailed him as he looked down at a three-story drop. _Take a deep breath and focus on the handholds_, he told himself.

Looking up, he saw a drainpipe that was firmly bolted to the stonework, running from the roof to the pavement below. Hoping that it would be strong enough for long enough, he climbed slowly up to the roof, preferring to climb up ten feet of finger-and-toeholds to risking his weight on those rusty bolts trying to shimmy down. A convenient fire escape provided him with a safer descent, and then the night swallowed him up like a dream.

_I knew where I was going to start, and I would have to cover a lot of ground first. I hailed the first taxi I could find and got lucky; he was hungry enough to skip his __dinner break__ to take me where I wanted to go. I paid him off and pocketed the receipt. It had occurred to me that if the killer struck while I was AWOL, it would look pretty bad for me. _

_It was a long, long night._

* * *

The next morning, the sunlight broke through the fog long enough to shine irritatingly into the eyes of an exhausted man.

Mac was sitting at the table in his suite, tired and frustrated. He pillowed his head on his folded arms and wished for sleep. The thing that had been nagging him earlier was still nagging him now. He felt that he had wasted a whole evening and accomplished nothing.

"Mac, you look _awful_." Pete Thornton arrived promptly at 8 o'clock. He set his briefcase on the table and cocked his head at MacGyver. "Don't they let you sleep when you're in protective custody?"

Mac glanced up and offered his friend Pete feeble smile. "Sleep is for sissies." He ran his fingers through his hair, realizing that he could use a shower and a shave. "Actually, I'd take what I could get. I just can't sleep with ... _**this **_... hanging over me." He gestured at the pile of case folders he had spread across the table. He had read them so many times he felt he knew them by heart. "Pete, let me get cleaned up. I can't even think right now."

"Go ahead," Pete clapped him on the shoulder. "I've got a few phone calls to make. Hopefully by the time you get out of the shower, I'll have some news."

* * *

The hot water worked wonders on Mac. By the time he came out of his room, dressed in fresh clothes that Pete had brought him, he felt almost coherent. He rolled up the sleeves of the blue flannel shirt and leaned over Pete's shoulder to see what he was reading.

"What'cha got there, Pete?"

"Hopefully something that will help us figure out this puzzle," answered Pete. He shifted to one side so that Mac could see the papers more clearly. Mac hooked a chair leg with his foot and pulled it up so that he could sit beside Pete. "I fed the available data into the Phoenix computers. We have a new program to create profiles on people, based on their behavior and environment. It's supposed to help catch serial criminals and even offer predictions on crime waves. It's still in an experimental stage, but I figured we could use any advantage."

"You figured right," Mac said. "We need all the help we can get." He stifled a yawn and blinked at the paper. Once he started reading he forgot his weariness. "Pete, have you read this stuff?"

"I scanned through it on the way over here. I didn't see anything that jumped out at me."

Mac frowned at the papers, his eyes flicking as he rapidly read through the reports. "It's all here, but in this format ... the patterns should be easier to pick out." He read through the last sheet, and then started over. Pete shook his head and stood up, walked to the door and opened it.

In the lounge outside of Mac's suite, two police officers were sitting and drinking coffee. "Morning, fellas," Pete said. "Do you think we could get a pot of that coffee in here?"

"Yes, sir."

By the time Pete had returned to the desk, he found Mac in a state somewhere between excitement and despair. He was digging through the police files and then referring to the new reports.

"Mac? What is it? Have you found something?" Pete was beginning to become seriously concerned about his friend.

"Nothing! There is no pattern ... no similarities between the victims ... it's insane!" Mac let the papers fall to the desk and covered his eyes with his hands. "Pete, I went out ..." Mac stopped abruptly as a brief knock sounded against the door and it opened.

One of the policemen brought in a tray with Mac's breakfast and a pot of coffee. He was a young officer, obviously new to the service. "Good morning, Mr. MacGyver. Detective Mahey told us to take good care of you. I hope this is all right for breakfast. Just let us know if you need anything else."

"Thank you," Mac answered sincerely. He took the tray and set it on a chair, since the table was covered with papers. When the door closed behind him, Mac didn't have a chance to continue his sentence before Pete spoke.

"What do you mean, you _'went out'?_" Pete demanded softly.

Mac sighed and answered in a whisper, "I went out to visit the crime scenes. I found nothing. Most of the places had been cleaned up. Two of the places already have new tenants. I spent more time climbing fire escapes last night than a cat burglar."

"Mac!"

"I know … I know. I was careful and, aside from one friendly cab driver, nobody saw me. Anyway, I didn't find anything, so it was a huge waste of time. There is no evidence here or out there that suggests a single suspect or even hints at a motive! It's as if the killer is striking at random, whenever he sees an opportunity ..." Mac's voice trailed off as he stared out the window. "Windows of opportunity ..." he muttered, reaching out to touch the glass.

Pete frowned at him. "Mac ...?"

Mac didn't answer right away. He had turned from the window and was shuffling through the papers to find the city map that he had laid out the night before, with each place that he planned to visit marked and the best routes between them highlighted.

"Pete! That's it!" Mac exclaimed, excitement returning.

"What?"

"Windows! The places where those people died! They were all on upper levels of buildings, and they all had big windows. That's how he chose his victims! It only seems random, but logically, he had to pick by _some_ method, and I think ..." Mac scanned over the map until he found the first victim's location. "If this is actually the first victim then we might be able to find the killer, if he's also in the line of sight. Why didn't I see it earlier?" Mac berated himself. "A killer strikes at what he sees. Somehow, he saw the first victim here, and he looked out of the windows and saw the next victim ... I can't tell line-of-sight by the city maps, though. I'll have to go to each place again."

Pete scrutinized the papers and traced the route on the map. MacGvyer's excitement was beginning to infect him, but he didn't let it carry him away. "Okay, Mac. Let's call Mahey and tell him your theory. But I think it would be a good idea **not** to tell him about your nocturnal meanderings." Pete gave Mac a meaningful glare.

Mac ducked his head to hide his grin. "You call Mahey. I'm going to grab half an hour of sleep. Have some breakfast, Pete!" He stuffed the cab receipt into Pete's breast pocket. "Here. This is the only guy who saw me last night. If I need it, he can alibi me from one a.m. 'til two. G'night."

Mac lay down on the bedspread and closed his eyes for the first time in two days. He was asleep within minutes.


	5. Chapter 5 A Willing Pupil

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part Five: A Willing Pupil**

Mac woke up with a mild start when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Wha…?"

A voice came out of the warm darkness. "It's just me, Mac. It's Pete."

"Oh ... what's going on?" Mac sat up and noticed the clock on his nightstand. The digital readout said 11:25 a.m. He bolted upright in a panic. The curtains had been drawn to block out the midday sunlight. "Why'd you let me sleep for so long? Where's Mahey?"

"Relax, Mac. I spoke to Mahey earlier; he's on his way here but he had something he had to do first. You needed the rest, anyway."

Mac winced as Pete's words sank in. "_'Something he had to do first'_... **don't** tell me ... the killer struck again last night!"

"No, not that!" Pete said quickly. He patted Mac's shoulder. "I know, I was a little worried when he called to say he'd be delayed. He had a court appearance this morning. He should be here shortly. I told him your theory, by the way. He said he was ... 'intrigued by the prospect'."

Mac flopped back down on the bed in an excess of relief, throwing one arm over his face. He sighed, then peeked at Pete from under his elbow. "'Intrigued by the prospect', eh? Well, I'm **intrigued** to see how this pans out myself." Mac rose with a groan and stretched, wishing he could go for a run to wake up properly.

"I also sent for some things that I thought you might need," Pete added. He pointed to the table, which had been tidied up, papers straightened and folders neatly stacked and set aside. A tray covered with a napkin sat on the desk as well, and beside it lay a battered knapsack.

Mac picked up the knapsack with a grin. "My old friend!" Looking inside, he found a pair of binoculars, a compass, and a roll of duct tape. Then he lifted the corner of the napkin and found that Pete had also sent for some food. His stomach urgently demanded his attention for the next ten minutes.

* * *

The paint that they used on the walls in the Institute resembled melted vanilla ice cream. Winder always tried to avoid touching anything because he was sure that it would be as sticky as it looked. The floors, worn but spotlessly clean, were tiled and the color of pistachio. Someone else might have called it 'avocado', but it was always cold enough here to reinforce the ice-cream metaphors.

He swallowed his anxiety and walked on. He'd gotten past the front doors with his Civil Service ID, but getting into the secure ward would be a bit trickier. He had managed only one previous visit, by convincing the orderlies that he worked for the patient's law firm and had brought documents requiring signature (no pens or pencils allowed; a soft chalk-like crayon was provided by the security staff for such things). He was glad that he had possessed the foresight at the time to disable the telephone switchbox at his place of work. He had given them the phone number for his office, and when they couldn't verify, he charmed the duty nurse until she permitted him a short visit.

The conversation had taken place in a small room that was divided by a plane of shatterproof glass. Chairs were set facing each other, with red handsets to permit private communication.

The thickness of the barrier did nothing to dilute the powerful presence of the Doctor. Winder barely spoke at all; the Doctor did all the talking. He seemed to know, through some magic or intuition, just what Winder had needed to hear. He advised him, he taught him. The Doctor gave his pupil a direction and a purpose.

And then he gave Winder a target.

That meeting had taken place nearly six months ago. It had taken Winder a long time to work up the nerve act on the Doctor's instructions, even though he wanted to carry out all the things that the Doctor had encouraged him to try. He wanted to clean the world of filth ... as a man might pick up trash in the park. It was logical, just like the Doctor said in his book, for a man to grow weary of helplessness and find comfort in action.

Finally, the time had come to act. The first kill had been so easy: a junkie who would probably have been dead within the week anyway. It was chance that Winder had been watching when the pathetic man had made his first weak suicide attempt; but Winder told himself that it was not chance, but Fate – showing him the path he was meant to take.

Winder had watched through his telescope, located the apartment, and waited for the right time to move. What he intended to do was for the good of all good people, but he had to protect himself. The law was blind, crippled by ignorance and corruption. He knew that his acts would be considered criminal now, but one day he would be known as a hero.

So he had crouched outside of the window, having already jimmied the lock open. When the man returned to his apartment, strung out and unwary, it had been child's play to kill him. And just as the Doctor had predicted, when the body was discovered, no one questioned the death as anything but the inevitable result of a wasted life.

It had become _much_ easier after that.

Winder pulled himself out of his reverie as he approached the enclosed office guarding the secure ward. He needed to talk to his mentor again. It was going badly. MacGyver was not being contained, but employed by the police. The Doctor had warned him about MacGyver; he knew it would only be a matter of time before MacGyver put together the pieces.

Winder remembered the Doctor's words perfectly. 'He has the intelligence to match you, Dennis, but his heart is dead to Truth. He would save all the world; anyone ... no matter how corrupt or undeserving, to ease the pain of his own guilt. He's like a good dog that has turned rabid, Dennis. You must neutralize him. If you have the chance, you must kill him.'

He knew that it would be only a short time before the dog led the hunters to his den. He was prepared for the possibility. The Doctor had taught him to be always ready. Before he had come to speak to the Doctor again, Winder had closed down his office and left through the back. Then the identity of Dennis Winder went into the incinerator with all the papers and personal objects from his office. Only the necessary things were left behind.

Only the things necessary to bring the animal to the trap.

In the room behind the bars and glass, the duty nurse looked up as Winder approached her station. He gave her a short, businesslike nod; his anxiety was gone, hidden in the dark place where his conscience now lived. He smiled and remembered all he had been taught.


	6. Chapter 6 The Light House

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part Six: The Light House**

"It was a _nice _theory," the tone of Mahey's voice wasn't meant to be condescending, but it sounded that way to MacGyver and Pete. "I think we've taken this as far as we can go."

Mac squinted through the binoculars, focusing into the distance. "We're not done yet."

"Do you _really_ think you're going to spot the killer just standing in the window waiting for you to make him?" Mahey shook his head. "I know that killers often return to the scene of their crimes... what I think it's just wishful thinking that he's gonna come back to the scene of his_** first **_crime... especially now, today."

Mahey was tired and frustrated, and he couldn't keep himself from expressing his disappointment. He felt that they'd wasted an entire day visiting the locations of each victim's death—from most recent to the first—and he didn't seem any closer to catching his serial killer.

"All of the locations were linked by line-of-sight, except for our cat burglar," Pete asked, with a touch of exasperation. "You think it's just a coincidence that five out of six times we could see the location of the previous murder from one of the windows of each place?"

"Yes, I think it **is** coincidence. The only consistent pattern **we** have found is the fact that every victim was a low-life criminal that nobody is going to miss," Mahey argued.

"Except for Tabatha Carr," Mac's retorted.

Mahey snorted, leaning out of the open window. The pavement, four stories below, was clear of pedestrians. He cleared this throat and spat. "Maybe there's something about her that the investigation hasn't revealed yet. Face it, MacGyver – you're grasping at straws. There is no line-of-sight connection."

Pete was trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "It doesn't mean that there's no pattern, detective. It could be that particular murder was unrelated to the others. Or ... you said that this fellow, this burglar, broke into Miss Carr's apartment before her death. Maybe he saw something that made it necessary for him to be eliminated. The killer must spend some time studying his victims, getting to know their habits so that he can arrange for their deaths to seem natural." Pete tapped his lip, thinking hard. "But in Miss Carr's case, the killer was rushed ... forced to act too soon. That's why you got your clue that her death was unnatural, and maybe this burglar was the reason he made a mistake. He saw the killer hanging around her apartment and the killer saw him, so he moved on her too soon and then had to silence his witness before he could be identified."

Mahey refused to be convinced so easily. "And maybe the cat burglar was the murderer, and his death really was an accident. There have been no more suspicious deaths reported since he was found. But then again, our only other candidate for a suspect has been in protective custody." Mahey's jibe was delivered without conviction; he didn't really believe that Mac was guilty or suspect. But his words made it clear to both Mac and Pete that **someone** believed it.

Mac adjusted the binoculars and continued to sweep the area. There wasn't much to see. From the large southward-facing window, there were many buildings in view, but most turned blank brick walls toward MacGyver's probing gaze. Rows of apartment buildings rolled away down into a shallow valley. What windows might have been visible were screened by the roofs of other buildings and the occasional cluster of trees. At the farthest point visible to the left, a single window gaped open; the location of the second suspicious death.

They had just come from that place. Mac could see the small yellow flag he had left on the ledge to help locate it from a distance.

Mac turned his searching toward the right, up the hill. There were few possibilities in that direction. A park ate up most of the area; thick groves of tall trees blocked the horizon. Nearby, a business district offered billboards depicting vacant-eyed young female models wearing impractical clothing; scenic, but not helpful.

Mac moved to the westward-facing window and carefully focused past an undeveloped ridge of land. He could see a single building; it was low and flat, sitting on the crest of the hill beyond. Dark-tinted glass paneled the single upper landing.

Mac increased the focus of the binoculars to the limit, but he could make out nothing through the opaque panes of glass. "What is that building? It looks like an office of some kind."

Mahey focused his own glasses toward where Mac pointed. "Those are the offices of Social Services. Social workers, Public Defenders, civil rights advocates. My police station is just down the block from it." His tone was dismissive. He dropped his glasses so that they swung on the cord looped over his neck. "Dead end."

"Any chance of a connection with our civically disobedient victims?" Mac asked dryly. How did this man become a detective, anyway?

"We checked for that. None of the victims had any connection to the others. They all had different lawyers, their parole officers were located in separate offices ... we've checked and checked again." He sighed. "We are wasting time."

Mac did not answer. The sun, now moving toward the shimmering west, cast its lurid rays from behind the building on which his binoculars were trained. The walls of windows filtered the light, and silhouetted something that caught Mac's undivided attention.

"You may be wasting time, Mahey. I think I just got lucky." He leaned out the window and affixed a red flag to the sill. "Let's get there."

* * *

Mahey flashed his badge as they dashed past the shocked receptionist. Mac headed toward the end of the building, counting doors to find the right office. Mahey caught his arm and thrust him back, one hand on his gun as he backed against the wall. The door was ajar two or three inches, and there was no lights on inside.

Mahey pushed the door open with his elbow and crept around the threshold. He darted into the room, drawing his gun in a fluid motion. He did a rapid sweep of the room. "Clear."

Mac and Pete entered the room behind Mahey. Mac touched the wall next to the door, filling the room with light.

There was no one in the room. A desk and two chairs were against the inner wall. Perched in the corner formed by glass walls stood a telescope. Mac walked to the window and, careful not to touch anything, he bent his knees and sighted down the scope. It was trained on a little red flag, flapping in the breeze. "Bingo."

Pete circled the desk. "Looks like someone left in a hurry." The drawers had been hastily emptied, leaving a scattering of paper clips and a couple of pens. There were clean spots amid the dust on the vacant shelves and indentations on the carpet where furniture had once been placed.

"Pete," Mac said, moving aside so that Mahey could peer though the telescope, "would you go and ask the receptionist who most recently occupied this office?"

"Sure, Mac. I'll be right back."

Mahey's voice was muffled as he ducked his head down to see out of the telescope without moving it. Whoever had set it up was several inches shorter than he was. He held his cellular phone to his ear as he switched from left eye to right trying to focus. "This is Mahey ... I need a CSI unit over here on the double ... Offices of Social Service on Ocean View Road ... when? Ten minutes ago, that's when!" He snapped the phone off. "Wait, I see something ... it's kinda fuzzy ... no, there's your flag! Well, I'll be a sonofab ..."

Mac wasn't listening to him. He was looking at the carpet near the windows. The corner of the office pointed due south, offering a panoramic view of the hill sloping down from the building. The telescope was standing on a sturdy tripod focused through the southeastern window. Over by the southwestern view, Mac knelt to examine the thick carpet.

"The telescope used to be here," he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else who might have been listening. Measuring with his eyes, he estimated where the telescope might have pivoted. He stood in that place and brought up his binoculars to his eyes.

The sky above the Pacific was clear today, the westering sun reflecting brightly on the water. The refracted light clouded the details of what Mac could see through his binoculars. He could just make out the waterfront at the foot of the green slope stretching down from the office. Ships, boats, and structures were a blur before his eyes, but he kept looking, sweeping his gaze back and forth. He saw something that struck him as familiar, but his glasses were turned up as sharp as they could focus.

Frustrated, Mac lowered his glasses and looked around. On the wall, half covered by the curtain, hung an old calendar. Mac took it down and rolled it up into an oval cylinder. He slipped this over the lenses of his binoculars and focused again.

"What are you doing?" Mahey asked, annoyed. "That might be evidence!"

"This cuts down on the ambient light that's interfering with my vision," Mac replied. "Don't worry, I won't eat it when I'm done. I just need to see a little clearer ..." Mac stopped talking as an icy feeling settled in his guts. The light filter had worked. The familiar grayish-blue blur he saw now resolved into a clearer picture.

He was looking through the patio doors of his own houseboat.


	7. Chapter 7 Hunting Lessons

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part Seven: Hunting Lessons**

"Here's the information you were asking for, Mr. Thornton." The receptionist handed Pete a thick file-book. She had warmed up significantly after Pete had shown her his Phoenix Foundation ID. "Anything I can do to help, you just let me know."

"Thank you, Miss ..."

"Call me Darcelle. I'm a big admirer of the work your Foundation does for the ecosystem. This building was designed by a Phoenix-sponsored program for low environmental impact."

"I think I remember something about that crossing my desk," Pete lied gently, hoping to keep the lady in a talkative mood. "What can you tell me about this guy ..." he glanced down at the name on the file, "this Dennis Winder. Has he worked here long?"

Darcelle glanced around carefully before she said, "If you call what he did around here working. Do you know, he's had me reschedule all his appointments three times in a row? He hasn't seen a client in more than a month. He keeps saying that he's making appointments to meet them outside of the office, but they keep calling and saying they haven't met with him. I had to report that to the city manager," Darcelle whispered. "I didn't want to, but I had to. Some of these clients are dependants of the State. I don't expect that he'll be with us much longer."

"Really?" Pete said, thumbing through the file. "What has he been doing with all his time, I wonder?" He smiled at Darcelle. "Maybe he's got a girlfriend."

Darcelle blushed lightly, hiding behind her hands. "Mr. Thornton!"

"Call me Pete ..."

* * *

**Mac's voice-over:**  
_When I was a kid, my father and grandfather__ taught me a lot about hunting and survival. __I'd been on a hunt today, following a trail just like Dad and Harry had taught me back then. They __taught __me that a good hunter will follow the tracks, a wise hunter will set up a blind and wait for the prey to come back to him, and a thrifty hunter will set a trap and lure the animal into it. I always kinda felt sorry for the animal ... but I never went hungry, either. _

_Today, I was feeling more like the animal than the hunter, and that wasn't a good feeling at all._

"I can't see anything ... the sun is right in my eyes!" Mahey complained. "Are you sure about what you saw?"

"I _think_ I know where I _live_!" Mac didn't try to mask his sarcasm. Mahey's stubborn refusal to consider Mac's theories was beginning to arouse Mac's temper. He turned away from the vista beyond the windows. The sunlight bouncing off of the water and through the mirrors inside his binoculars had brought on a brutal headache. Also, his mind was racing over all the facts he had learned. He was beginning to wonder if the pieces he had even belonged to the same puzzle.

Mahey dropped his binoculars and discarded the makeshift filter that Mac had used. "I can't see through this, MacGyver. Help me move the telescope over here."

"Mahey," Mac said slowly, leaning against the doorjamb and massaging the bridge of his nose, "I don't think that's such a good idea ..."

"Who's the cop here, huh?" Mahey asked angrily. "I let you lead me by the nose all around the city on a wild goose chase, and now that we've found a clue that I think might be solid, you don't want to help? **Fine! **Get out of my crime scene! I'll move the damn thing myself ..." Mindful of smudging any possible fingerprints, Mahey tugged his sleeves down and, bending his knees and cradling the barrel of the telescope, he carefully lifted the heavy object off of its legs. "Wow! This thing is heavier than it looks ..." He took a step toward the other window.

Mac had started out of the room as he had been directed, but he froze as he heard Mahey's words. "Mahey ...!" Mac turned back to try to stop him, but it was too late.

The telescope exploded in Mahey's arms, blowing out all the windows in the room. Mac had enough time to throw his arms up over his face before he was spun like a leaf and hurled out of the room and against the door of the adjacent office. He felt the wood crack and splinter as he went through before blackness rushed up and caught him, cushioning his fall with oblivion.

* * *

The nurse's smile didn't waver at all. "I'm sorry, sir. As I have said, this is a secure floor. You cannot enter without proper authorization and permission from the Administrator."

Winder's confidence was beginning to ebb, but he kept his demeanor earnest. "Please," he said gently, allowing some of the desperation he was feeling to creep into his voice, "I **need** to talk to Dr. Zito. It's _very_ important."

"Then it will be worth the time it will take to get proper authorization." The nurse reached for her phone, "Shall I call the Administrator and make an appointment for you?"

"Th-thank you. Yes, please do that." Mahey looked glanced around, "Ma'am, is there a men's room nearby that I can use?"

"Downstairs, sir. Right across from the Administrator's office, as a matter of fact. I'll tell him you're on your way down."

Winder stammered another insincere thanks and turned away. The nurse watched him while waiting for the switchboard operator to connect. "Security, please. Hey, Randy ... this is Delores up on the Secure Ward ... I think I've got a live one for you ... he's on his way down now ..."

* * *

"If you need anything else... you know... to help with your investigation... this is my number," Darcelle took the file from Pete's hands and began to scribble on the back. "My, um... _private_ number," she added, dropping her eyes as her face colored prettily.

Pete's response was lost, however, when without warning a blast light and noise came roaring down the corridor toward the reception area. The entire office shook, and Darcelle screamed.

Pete caught himself from falling by grabbing the desk. A thick cloud of smoke poured into the reception area from the hallway that led to the office where Pete had left MacGyver and Mahey.

Darcelle was crouching behind her desk, terrified. "Is it an earthquake?" She appeared to be uninjured.

"Out! Get out of here and call the fire department!" Pete helped the woman up and propelled her toward the exit. He pulled this jacket up over his nose and mouth and lunged into the bank of smoke that was billowing out of Winder's office, filling the hallway.

"MacGyver! Mahey!" No one answered as Pete hurried down the hallway. The whole building shook again, and he threw out an arm to the wall to catch himself from falling. Fire sprinklers began shedding water, beating the heavy smoke down. Pete kept moving, calling Mac's name.

He reached the doorway, but could not enter. The ceiling of the room had collapsed after the windows had blown out. Pete coughed, shaking his head to cast away the water and soot that was pouring into his eyes. "Oh, God ... Mac! **Mac!**"

A groan answered his plea. It was coming from beneath a pile of debris that had blown across the hall and into another office. Pete stumbled through the opening and heaved aside a large piece of wood that had once been a door. Underneath, he found a dirty white athletic shoe. "Mac!"

Pete clawed away the pieces of plaster and wood, uncovering his friend's body. He touched Mac's throat and sighed with relief when he felt a strong heartbeat. "Mac, buddy ... are you with me?" Mac's lips moved soundlessly. Pete leaned down and put his ear near Mac's mouth.

"Mahey ... where – ?" Mac coughed, then groaned again, bringing one arm up to cover his ribs protectively.

"Don't try to talk any more, Mac," Pete said, stripping off his jacket and covering him. It was soaking wet from the sprinklers, but by Pete's reckoning it was better than nothing.

There was a rip in Mac's jeans just above his left knee and the fabric was wet with blood. Pete fished a clean handkerchief out of his pants pocket and tied it deftly above the wound. Mac winced as he pulled it tight, raising one hand to cover his eyes.

"Hang on, Mac. Help's on the way."

"Mahey. He was in there ..." Mac sighed these words out, and then let his mind step back away from the pain; he could still hear and see, and the burning in his leg and the pressure in his chest kept him clinging to consciousness. He didn't want to fall asleep and wake up dead.

Pete picked up Mac's hand and spoke lightly to him, trying to keep him awake until the paramedics arrived. "You know, Mac ... your timing could have been better. I was just about to get the receptionist's phone number."

Mac cracked a ghost of a smile. "Can't ... take you ... _any_where." Mac coughed and Pete cringed as a trickle of blood escaped his friend's lips. "Pete ..."

"I'm here, Mac."

"Don't let me sleep too long this time ..."


	8. Chapter 8 Never Say Die

**Mac's voice-over:**_  
If __there's__ anything that __I hate __more than feeling vulnerable, it's __admitting__ that __I'm __vulnerable.__ And nothing makes you __feel more vulnerable than being laid out flat in a hospital unable to remember how __you __got there._

_This wasn't the first time I've woken up in a hospital. There's always a moment of confusion, and of panic, when I open my eyes and find myself in a strange place, surrounded by strange people. It only took a few seconds for me to realize where I was and that I was safe. Unfortunately, the __adrenaline__ that coursed through me counteracted whatever painkillers I'd been given. Let's just say it was the __**least**__ amount of fun I've had since ... well ... since __**ever**__. _

_There were many more flashes __of__ awareness, some probably no more than dreams of waking. I remember voices mostly; urgent, soothing, plaintive. They kept bringing me back from the distant place I was hiding in, hiding from pain and memory. I clung to those voices, using them to navigate my way through a red-black sea of darkness. _

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part Eight: Never Say Die **

_I lived. There were moments when I wasn't sure I wanted to – that I deserved to – but there was never a time, after I first opened my eyes and knew I wasn't dead, that I doubted that I'd recover. As much as I hurt, there were some discomforts that were worse than what I was feeling beneath my bandages. Mahey was gone. I was going to be out of it for a long time, but he was out of it forever._ _It didn't seem fair... that I should live when he did not. Shouldn't there be enough luck in the world to go around?_

_On top of my injuries and my guilt, there was an almost unendurable lack of information. My doctor was adamant that I was not to be 'burdened' with any stressful news. When I was able, I told him that I was _more_ stressed by __**not**__ knowing, but he was hard about it. __**"Absolutely not!"**__ was his last word on the matter. If I wanted any visitors at all, I had to let go of my curiosity._

_It was hard to bear at first, but I came to understand it and soon, to appreciate it. __I hadn't __been this badly hurt for a long time. The blast of the explosion had broken a handful of ribs and poked a hole in one of my lungs. The doctor had dug a chunk of metal about four inches long out of the meaty part of my thigh, too. Believe me, I had plenty of time to lay back and think about being crippled for the rest of my life. It was sobering enough to convince me to try to be a good boy and give in to the doctor's orders._

_Memories of the explosion were coming back to haunt me. I had really hoped that somehow Mahey had survived, but I could see it in Pete's face the first day that he was allowed to visit me. He couldn't talk about it ... but he didn't have to. He told me not to blame myself, but I couldn't help thinking that, if Mahey had been following police protocol, he never would've followed me to that office and __he wouldn't have __been killed by a bomb that had been meant for me. My head said that it wasn't my fault, but my heart wasn't listening._

_The burden of Mahey's death and the pain of healing was all the stress I __could__ endure – and it was almost too much. I stopped fighting with the people who were trying to help me and learned to rest._

_It was hard ... harder than anything I'd been through before, but I was getting steadily better. My leg was responding well to physical therapy; in fact, I was on very good terms with the __head __therapist. Laurel was a friendly woman, in her late fifties but with a youthful outlook. She reminded me of my grandmother – a firm hand and a caring heart. She bullied and cajoled me through the most difficult days, and as my prognosis improved, my wounded spirit began to heal as well._

_Two weeks later, I was looking forward to going home soon and the prospect of getting back to work. A part of my mind was still numb – still hungry to finish that deadly puzzle – but I had gotten good at ignoring it. Right __now, I had to contend with long hours of boredom and being cooped up in one place all day with a security guard posted nearby. I was starting to feel more like a prisoner than a patient._

_I'd been taught to make the best out of bad situations, so that's what I tried to do. I started to enjoy life again. That's a lot easier to do when you've got friends around._

* * *

Mac was sitting up in his bed playing cards and talking on the phone when Pete stepped into his hospital room. Seated next to the bed, cards fanned out in their hands, were Laurel Simpson, the hospital's head of Physical Therapy, and David Johannes, one of the Phoenix Foundation's security personnel. David stood up nervously when the Director of Field Operations walked in, but Mac waved at him to sit back down.

"**Uh**-_uh_, Davy," Mac said, pointing with his chin at the chair. "You aren't going _anywhere_ until we finish this hand. Grab some vinyl, bud." Mac switched the phone to his other ear and gestured for Pete to come in. "Yeah, Jack, I'm here ... no, I'm fine ... I _swear_ I'm fine ... you don't have to do that ... well, when you get back into town, _then_ come and see me ... no, I don't need anything. Pete's taking good care of me ..." Mac looked up and winked at Pete. "Yeah, he's here now ... I will ... yeah. Bye." He leaned over to hang up the phone, wincing a little as he stretched his half-healed ribs.

Pete intercepted his movement, taking the handset and setting it in its cradle. "Dalton?"

"Yeah. He finally listened to his messages. He says he's been flying some cargo around the Keys, so he's been out of touch." Mac speculatively eyed the leather satchel that Pete had set on the floor. "Does this mean that I have to leave soon?"

Pete raised his eyebrows, surprised, "I thought that you'd welcome the news that the doctor was finally going to clear you to go home!"

"Well, yeah ... kinda," Mac pulled up his good leg and wrapped his arms around his knee. "I've gotten so comfortable around here in the last two weeks ... it's like being on vacation!"

"If that's the way you feel," Laurel laughed, "I've been taking it too easy on you."

"_**Easy!" **_MacGyver sputtered in protest, "Pete, don't listen to her – the woman is a sadist! On second thought, I'm begging you – get me out of here!"

"Only if the doctor gives you the green light." Pete picked up the bag and set it on the table beside Mac's bed. "As an act of sheer optimism, I brought you some traveling clothes. And ... this." Pete had been keeping one hand behind his back. Now he brought it around to show what he had been hiding.

"You're kidding," Mac said, taking the thing into his hands. "A cane? What am I ... an old man?"

"It was my idea," Laurel said, craning her neck around to look at Mac's cards while he was distracted. "That leg isn't ready to hold you up without some support."

Mac jerked his cards away from her eyes, shielding them against his chest. "Hey! No fair peeking!"

Pete chuckled. It was nice to see Mac in good spirits after such a long and difficult recovery. "We figured you'd prefer a cane to a wheelchair. I bought the nicest one I could find. I'll have you know _that_ is genuine hand-polished imported blackthorn."

"I'm grateful, Pete, really, but I – I don't need it. I've been doing all right in my PT – I think I can hobble around well enough without."

Laurel sat back in mock disgust. "It's for **my** own good, MacGyver. Honestly, as much as we're going to miss you around here – you being such a generously bad poker player and all – I _don't _want to see you in my Physical Therapy lab again!"

Mac tilted his head toward Pete and mouthed the words, "She wants me." He laid down his cards then. "Full house."

David and Laurel both threw down their cards in frustration. Laurel stood up and put her hands on her hips. She gave Mac a withering look. "Yes, I want you, mister ... I want you to fix my treadmill the same way you did the stationary bike!" She looked at Pete and said, "Have you any idea what this man can do with a some surgical tape and a key from a sardine can?"

Pete smiled and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Laurel shook her finger in Mac's face. "You can come back for that ... but you'd better be _using_ that cane, or I'll use it _on_ _you_!" She reached out and tousled his hair before she walked out of the room.

"Yes, ma'am!" Mac looked appealingly toward David. "Hey. Can you protect me from _her_?"

David laughed. "That's my job. And I'd best get to it. It's time to begin my shift." He stood up. "Mr. Thornton, MacGyver, I'll be right outside if you need anything." He put on his cap and gave Pete a two-finger salute. He stopped at the door and turned back, pointing at the winnings pile. "Double or nothing? Tomorrow?"

"You're on, Dave," Mac answered with a wave. "... if I'm still here," he added with cautious hope.

Pete folded his arms and smiled. "Corrupting the staff and distracting the guards ... Mac, you're definitely getting back into your form!"

"Thanks, Pete," Mac grinned at him. He began to gather together the cards and his winnings, which consisted of foil-wrapped candies and miniature chocolate bars. "You want one? The dark chocolates are worth 50."

Pete accepted the sweet, but didn't eat it. "Thanks. By the way, have you heard from your grandfather?" He casually began gathering up the abandoned coffee cups and candy wrappers scattered around the room.

"I talked to Harry last night. He offered to come down for a while but I told him to wait for a few weeks." Pete cocked his head at Mac, who looked uncomfortable and began to fidget with his cane. "If he's going to come all this way for a visit, I want to be able to spend quality time with him." Pete leveled his stare at Mac until he added softly, "I don't want him to see me like this."

"He cares about you, Mac. We all do."

Mac nodded. It was time to change the subject. "So ... the doctor told you I might be released soon? He hasn't said as much to me yet." Mac pointed the cane in Pete's direction, squinting down the length of the polished black wood. "You know something and you're not telling." Mac had forced himself out of the habit of asking questions, but he hadn't lost his desire to _know_.

"Well, in addition to suggesting the possibility of allowing you to go home, the Doctor has finally given me permission to tell you more about what's been going on with our manhunt."

Mac tossed the cane aside and leaned back against the headboard. "The doctor said you could talk? So **talk! **You have my undivided attention!"

"I got a visit from Lt. Murphy," Pete said. "Do you remember her?"

"Yes ... Kate Murphy, the 'Tank Lady'," Mac said with a laugh.

"Right. She said to send you her best wishes for a speedy recovery, and to give you _this _as a get-well present." He opened the bag he had brought and pulled out a folder. "One of the security people out at the Alameda State Hospital contacted her. Apparently, someone answering Dennis Winder's description tried to get onto the secure ward on the same day you were injured."

The crease in Mac's forehead deepened as he frowned. "That's interesting. But why would they call Kate about that? I thought she was in charge of Vice and Narcotics."

"She is. But she asked the ward to notify her whenever there was any activity around Dr. Zito."

"_**What?**_"

"That's right. Winder was trying to get in to talk to him. The duty nurse refused to permit him to enter and called security. He got away, but they have his description and footage of him on the surveillance cameras."

"Remind me to send that duty nurse a present." Mac covered his face with his hands.

_Dr. Zito. How I hoped __**never**__ to hear that man's name again ..._

Pete continued his tale, "One of the orderlies admitted that he allowed a man matching Winder's description to visit Dr. Zito about six months ago. At that time, he had falsified documents that identified him as a representative of Zito's legal counsel. I think it's reasonable to assume Zito has been using Winder the same way he manipulated Eric Cross. Only this time, his target was you instead of Murphy."

"Where that man is concerned, reason and logic go right out of the window." Mac exhaled despondently. "You know, it amazes me how a man who's incarcerated in a high security facility can still manage to do so much damage in the outside world! Can you _imagine_ what could happen if he was at large?"

"I don't have to imagine ... I've seen his file," Pete answered grimly. "The day they manage to prove his competence, he'll be standing trial for murder."

"And has there been any sign of Winder since this?" Mac asked, leafing through the file. As his eyes flew over the text and the pictures—memorizing everything, comparing, analyzing—he felt as if a part of himself that had been asleep was waking up at last.

"Not hide nor hair. It's like he's fallen off of the face of the earth. If he's smart, he'll get lost and stay lost. He's won a place on the FBI's Most Wanted list, along with other nationwide law enforcement popularity contests." Pete spoke with unusual heat. Mac noticed then how tired his friend looked. There was no question that Pete had been working hard to find this man, and his frustration at failing to bring him to justice was starting to show through.

Mac clapped Pete on the back. "We've probably seen the last of him around here, Pete. Don't worry. Someone – somewhere – is going to catch up with him."

_And I honestly hoped that it __wouldn't __be me or Pete that caught up with him first. So much death, so many innocent victims ... the thought of facing Dennis Winder filled my heart with anger and hate, and __there's __no blacker feeling than that. A part of me wanted to do something to make sure he never hurt anyone again. _

_There's a part of myself that I'm not proud of ... a corner of my heart that's hot and dark and wrathful. It contradicts everything I've learned and try to believe ... sometimes it makes me feel as if I'm just pretending to be a decent person._

_In that isolated, tightly-restrained part of my brain ... I wanted revenge; cold and simple._

_And __that's __just another kind of trap that can blow up in your face._

* * *

MacGyver was grateful for the support of the cane by the time he had limped from Pete's car to the door of his houseboat. Solicitous, but careful not to appear coddling, Pete let Mac unlock the front door and open it for himself.

Mac walked inside and looked around. It was _good _to be home again. Everything was right where he had left it, except the dirty dishes he hadn't gotten around to washing before he left more than two weeks ago. Someone – Pete being the most likely suspect – had tidied up while he'd been in the hospital. There was a basket of fresh fruit on the counter and none of the houseplants were dead.

Mac turned around and smiled at Pete. "Home, sweet home."

Pete had carried in Mac's travel bag; he set it down next to the stairs. "I took the liberty of having the Foundation's bomb squad come down and sweep the house. They checked out the entire area, in fact." Mac didn't respond, but Pete could tell he was a little uncomfortable at this news. "Mac, the police had their unit down here the day after the explosion. And I figured that our boys could use some practice."

Mac sighed. "Don't get me wrong, Pete; I'm grateful. I just don't want you to get into trouble for using Phoenix resources for personal reasons ..."

"Personal – hell!" Pete responded swiftly. "Winder is still at large! The police are going over every clue they have, and they're calling in markers from everyone, including the Phoenix Foundation. They want to find this guy before he ..."

"Finishes the job?" Mac eased himself down on the couch. Another, longer sigh escaped him. "There's nothing like the feeling you get when you know that your name is on some homicidal maniac's to-do list!" His head fell back against the cushions, and he rubbed his face as if he could wipe away his weariness. "I'm beat, Pete. I think I'll take a nap right here."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay all alone?" Pete couldn't stop himself from offering, "I could stay ..."

"No – I mean ... you don't have to do that. The police are probably still watching the place and if I know you, that guy who's 'walked' his German Shepherd past my house twice in the past five minutes has trained his dog to sniff out explosives." Pete ducked his head and smiled. "I thought so. Now, go on. I'll be just fine."

Pete paused at the doorway, "I'm just a phone call away ..."

"... if I need you. I know, Pete. Thanks."

* * *

Pete walked slowly to his car, feeling both relief and new anxiety. Relief, now that MacGyver was recovering and back home again ... and anxiety for the same reasons. Everything that could be done, had been done, and yet it didn't seem to be enough. Where was Winder? Would he come back to try to kill Mac again?

Pete climbed inside his car and pulled the door shut. He could see Mac's houseboat from where he sat. He put his keys into the ignition, but he didn't turn the engine over. He checked his cellular phone to make sure that the battery was fully charged. Then he merely sat there, watching.

If that was all he could do to help his friend, then that was what Pete would do. For as long as was necessary.


	9. Chapter 9 Back Trailing

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part Nine: Back Trailing**

"MacGyver! What are you doing _here_?" Pete demanded. He spoiled the effect of his painted-on scowl by grinning with delight at the sight of his friend.

Mac returned his grin, then swung his blackthorn cane rakishly up onto his shoulder. "I was in the neighborhood." He sauntered in with only the slightest trace of a limp and perched on the arm of one of the chairs in front of Pete's desk, twirling the cane deftly in his fingers.

Pete eyed the cane, wondering if he should start shifting breakables out of Mac's reach. "You told me you had an appointment today. So ... what's the news?"

Mac set the cane down across his knees. "It's all good. Dr. Fiske told me that my next follow-up appointment would very likely be my last. And Laurel threw me out of her PT lab. _After_ I fixed her treadmill, of course," he added with a laugh.

"Is that all the doctor said?" Pete asked, shifting aside a large pile of reports.

"He did mention that he was glad that his other patients didn't heal as quickly as I have. He said that that would make his job very lonely." Mac tilted his head and looked at Pete closely. "So ... what's the verdict? Can I come back to work now?"

Pete frowned at Mac. "You know I can't let you go back out into the field until Dr. Fiske gives you a one-hundred-percent clean bill of health!"

"I know!" Mac countered, "but I'm going crazy sitting at home!" He nodded at the pile of work on Pete's desk. "Looks like business is booming. Sure you don't need any help?"

"_Mac _..."

"There's nothing wrong with my brain, you know!"

"I know that, Mac, but ..."

"So give me something to think about! I don't have to go into the field for that! I'm begging you, Pete ... _anything!_ I'm on the verge of becoming addicted to daytime television!"

Pete held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay ... all right, Mac. I'll see what I can do to keep your mind occupied. How about you let me go through today's reports and I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay." Mac stood up slowly. "Tomorrow?"

"I'll call you."

"Promise?" Mac asked, walking backward toward the doorway.

Pete sighed. Sometimes MacGyver could behave like such a child. "I promise."

"Okay... so long as you promise. Bye, Pete." Mac disappeared around the corner.

"Bye." Pete started reading the first report on the pile.

Mac popped back around the corner. "Early. Call me early."

"_Good-__**bye**_, Mac!" Pete half-shouted. Then he shook his head and laughed. It was good to have MacGyver back.

* * *

Mac walked toward the parking lot, using the cane every alternate step. He'd promised Pete and Laurel that he'd keep the thing **and** use it until Dr. Fiske cleared him. And he had to admit to himself, whether he wanted to or not, that he wasn't up to some things just yet.

For instance, working the clutch on his Jeep.

Mac opened the door and climbed in the passenger side. "Let's go, Davy."

David Johannes started the jeep and smoothly engaged the shift. "Home?"

Mac sighed. "Yeah. Pete won't let me come back to work today."

"Mr. Thornton is a stubborn man," David observed aloud.

"I think I'm wearing him down."

"Yes, sir," David said, skeptically. "Wearing him down ... right."

"Shut up and drive!" Mac said, laughing.

MacGyver was grateful that David Johannes had volunteered to continue his assignment as security on Mac's houseboat. If he had to be watched day and night, at least one of the men watching him was a good sport and a friend. It made the whole ordeal much easier for Mac to bear.

When he was on duty, David was nowhere to be seen, lying low and keeping a steady surveillance on the houseboat. Mac could work around the house or watch his western movies and never be disturbed. When Mac had to go out David would drive for him, taking either a Foundation pool car or one of Mac's vehicles. He was intelligent, respectful, and had a sense of humor that agreed with Mac's. After he was relieved by the next shift, occasionally David would come in to visit with Mac, and they would wind up playing table-hockey or watching whatever game was on TV.

David steered deftly into traffic, taking a roundabout way back toward the marina. As friendly as he had become with Mac, he was still a guard and he took his duties very seriously.

As he drove, David gave Mac a quick look and asked, "Tell me how long you've lived on that houseboat."

"Oh, a couple of years now, I guess. Why?"

David shrugged, "I dunno ... just curious. It's a nice place, but I think I'd prefer a real house ... you know, with a yard and a basement." He looked over at Mac and gave him a lopsided grin. "I was born in Kansas. I grew up in a storm cellar, you might say."

Mac chuckled. "Well, there aren't as many tornadoes in California as there are in Kansas, or I'd probably agree with you."

"Where did you live before this?"

"In a loft over a hardware store. Before that, I had a little apartment near Venice Beach. Nice scenery, but I outgrew it. The apartment, I mean."

"Yeah. I used to have a little place on the other side of San Pedro. It was okay, but after a while ..." David's words trailed off into silence.

"... you just know it's time to move on." Mac finished his sentence.

David nodded. "So, you decided you wanted to get closer to the water, eh?"

"I suppose. After growing up in Minnesota, I guess I just can't get close enough to the ocean." Mac laughed. "I supposed that when they manage to build a house under water, I'll have to get one of those next!"

David signaled a turn, taking it just before the light turned red. "So tell me the wackiest place you've ever lived."

"Wacky?" Mac laughed again, thinking back. "Um ... well, I guess I'd have to say Griffith Observatory."

"You lived in an observatory? Like a 'looking at the stars and stuff' observatory?"

"Of course! What other kind is there?" They both laughed. "I was caretaker up there for a while– " Mac broke off, staring out the window.

"MacGyver? What is it?"

"Telescopes ..." Mac answered vaguely. "I haven't been back there for ages. I wonder ..." Mac touched David's arm and said, "Turn right at the next intersection."

"Right? Okay ..." David downshifted quickly and executed the turn. "Where are we going?"

"Up. I got an idea ..."

* * *

The drive took them high into the hills above the city. Every mile that they traveled closer to their goal seemed to take Mac deeper into the past, back into days of recklessness and adventure when Mac's idea of fun was a really dangerous assignment that nobody else could handle. As the Jeep began climbing the last hill – it was really a small, steep mountain – Mac could see the gleaming white columns of Griffith Observatory peeping through the treetops.

The city had grown right up to the skirts of these hills, and the light that emanated from the sleepless night streets had encroached on the old Observatory, blinding her telescopes with a haze of light except on the clearest of nights. Still, she was well maintained, a popular choice for school field trips and amateur stargazers. Her lawns were green and the grounds trimmed, and the atmosphere was sparkling clean and fresh, like an abandoned magical castle riding above the smog-laden air of civilization.

The parking lot was deserted except for a single car, parked beneath a tree far away from the buildings. Two heads leaned close to each other, reminding Mac that this was also a popular hang-out for young couples. Mac directed David to pull into the space farthest away from the courting couple. Love was too precious and too rare to disturb for no good reason.

They got out of the car and crossed the wide lawn, circling the raised marble pedestal that upheld the aerospace monument. Mac and David made it all the way up to the door before they noticed the large sign next to the entrance that declared the Observatory closed on weekdays and gave a phone number to call for appointments.

"A shame," David said, giving the front door an idle pull. It was locked. "I was really looking forward to seeing your old digs."

"Well ..." Mac said, craning his neck around to look at the upper landing. "You know, I used to forget my keys a lot ... maybe my old emergency entrance is still accessible." Mac stepped off of the pavement and walked a few yards around the building. He stuck his cane in the back of his belt and took a grip on one of the stone ledges that decorated the proud edifice. "Time to give the leg a real test," he said with a grin. "Catch me if I fall off of this thing, will ya?" He flexed his knees and jumped, pulling himself up smoothly.

David stayed on the ground, watching in amazement as Mac climbed nimbly up the wall as if he did it every day. "Isn't this breaking and entering?" he asked as Mac disappeared over the lip of the retaining wall that encircled the upper-story viewing platform.

Mac's head popped back into view. "Only if I break something ... hopefully _not_ my neck! Just wait there; I'll get the door from the inside."

Mac stretched his leg before he crossed the platform. It was a little stiff, but not too sore after the exercise. He pulled the cane out of his belt and tucked it under his arm.

The door that led to the viewing platform was locked as well, but Mac knew a way around that too. There was a ventilation grid above the door. Mac reached up and swung the grate open with his fingertips, then groped along the ledge inside until he found a dusty old key.

Chuckling, Mac unlocked the door, careful to replace the key before he went inside.

_And they say you can't go home again!_

A narrow staircase led from the viewing platform downward into darkness. After a few feet, Mac could tell by the feel of the air that the close walls had opened up, and he was inside the great dome where the big telescope was housed. It was pitch-black; the skylight was closed and all the lights were shut off. He felt his way down the steps, his feet making faint ringing sounds on the metal grating.

Mac remembered the layout of the dome from the many nights he had spent there, gazing at the stars. The massive telescope was raised on a mechanical platform that could turn the full three hundred and sixty degrees, enabling an astronomer to examine the entire sky. Around the inside rim of the dome ran a service catwalk. The footing was treacherous; only a thin handrail separated the walkway from a fall of twenty feet, and that railing was punctuated at intervals with gaps that allowed access to the telescope's moving walkway. Each gap was strung with a chain to prevent an accidental fall.

Mac felt his way along the catwalk, careful to keep one hand on the wall. He located the exit by memory, but just as his fingers found the door handle, the lights inside the dome flicked on.

The bright light temporarily blinded Mac. He raised the hand holding the cane to shield his face. There was a man on the telescope platform. Through watering eyes Mac saw him standing there, one hand on the control panel.

Still shielding his eyes, Mac raised his other hand in a peaceful gesture. "Hey, sorry about coming in without an invitation. I used to live here, and I was just ... " Mac broke off as he got a clearer glimpse of the man on the platform.

It was Dennis Winder. Mac recognized him from the surveillance footage he had seen from the Alameda State Hospital.

Dennis gaped at MacGyver. Of all the places in the world, this was the last one where he expected to see his nemesis. He had chosen this hideaway precisely because MacGyver was the kind of person that wouldn't return to an old residence; he was a drifter who always moved forward. It didn't make sense that he should come back here!

Mac could see the shocked expression of recognition on Winder's face. He quickly dissembled his own surprise, turning it into guilty embarrassment. "I just came by to reminisce around my old stomping grounds. Are you the caretaker? Look, I'm sorry if I surprised you ..."

"Don't insult my intelligence, MacGyver. I know that you know who I am." Winder pushed a button on the control panel; the great machine that held the telescope began to emit a low hum as it slowly began to turn, bringing the walkway around so that it could align with Mac's position. The exit was right behind him, but Mac knew that the door would be sealed; the controls allowed the operator to lock the door. The emergency release for that lock was five feet to the right of the exit, clearly labeled.

Mac shifted toward the lock release, but Winder reached into his pocket and brought out a handgun. "Don't try it." Mac froze. "Move away from there. Show me your hands."

Mac raised his arms, the cane still clutched in his right hand.

"Aw, come on, Winder," Mac said. "A gun? That isn't your style."

"That's why the police will never catch me," Winder replied. The walkway had almost reached the opening nearest Mac; a thin chain hung between the red-painted bars. "I know exactly how the police think. They have established their psychological profile of Dennis Winder, and all I have to do is deviate from what they expect – change my _modus operandi _– and they will be sent spinning in circles, confused and befuddled by the restraints they themselves have put into place. Now – drop the cane. You won't be needing it anymore."

Mac set the tip of the cane on the floor and let if fall from his fingers onto the catwalk. "If you're so keen on killing me, why didn't you try to take me when I was in the hospital or at my houseboat?"

"Oh, sure ... with all those cops hanging around? I swear, I could have tossed a dozen doughnuts in the air and not one of them would have hit the ground! I was planning on waiting until you'd dropped your guard ... maybe until after your next trip out of the country. But this is better. The Doctor will be pleased." Winder stopped the movement of the telescope platform and switched the gun to his left hand. He walked toward Mac. "The chain ... remove it."

Mac bent down to reach for the chain that blocked the opening to the walkway. He hoped that it wasn't a cheap one, because this would be a short fight if it broke. He took a breath, unlatched the chain, and jumped over the railing.

The chain bore his weight, and he swung around to the underside of the platform walkway. He grabbed for and caught the metal struts, hooking his knees around a bar. His left leg twinged painfully, but he ignored it.

Winder half-shouted, his pistol discharging as he tried to hit Mac in mid-air. Frustrated, he switched hands and tried firing through the grating of the walkway. The shots ricocheted away, the echoes painfully loud under the dome.

Mac recoiled from the gunshots and nearly lost his grip. Holding on with one hand, he undid his belt buckle and yanked the length of leather free. Then he waited for Winder to look over the edge of the walkway, hoping his leg wouldn't give out before that happened.

Winder wasn't to be taken in so easily. He left the platform and took to the catwalk, walking around to try to get a clear shot at Mac. The platform was too low, and Mac was hiding between the sturdy metal runners that supported the walkway. It didn't help that the dome lights did not illuminate underneath the platform; the deep trough was filled with shadows.

A muffled pounding sounded on the sealed door; someone was trying to get inside. The sound distracted Winder; he lowered his gun slightly, looking like a cornered animal.

"What's the matter, Dennis?" Mac called out from his hiding place. "Sounds like you've got company coming. Why don't you let them in?"

"They won't get through that door ... it's solid steel and I've got it locked." Winder was still trying to find a place where he could get a clear shot at Mac.

"It's all going south, Dennis," Mac slowly began to move toward the telescope platform. If he could get up on it and unlock the door ... he winced as Winder fired another shot at him. The bullet whined past his head.

Winder stumbled suddenly; he had stepped on Mac's cane where he had dropped it. Grinning devilishly, Winder shoved his gun into his belt and picked up the cane. Its slender length would easily penetrate the metal grating. He could push MacGyver off of his precarious perch!

"Tell me, MacGyver," Winder said as he stepped out on the walkway. "In all your travels around the world ... have you learned yet how to fly?"


	10. Chapter 10 Home Court Advantage

**Weapon of Opportunity  
Part Ten: Home Court Advantage **

Winder knelt on the walkway, grinning with anticipation; MacGyver was going to die at last! He peered through the metal grating, hoping to see Mac's terrified expression.

Then Winder stopped grinning – he couldn't see Mac at all! He crawled forward and back along the walkway, jabbing the cane through at random, but MacGyver was nowhere in sight. Had he already fallen? Winder looked around wildly, but he could not see him anywhere. He must have fallen into the space between the catwalk and the platform!

Frustrated, he cast the cane aside and got to his feet, drawing his gun again and holding it with both hands as he peered through the grating into the darkness.

The pounding on the door became persistent. Winder looked toward the exit, fingering his gun thoughtfully. Maybe it _was_ time to leave – the Doctor had said in his book that a tactical retreat was often an appropriate response to a surprise attack ... and MacGyver had _certainly_ surprised him by showing up here!

He took one step toward the staircase and the lights suddenly went out. Winder turned and fired blindly toward the control panel. The muzzle flashed and the bullet hit metal. It came bouncing back and struck the wall behind him. Winder stood still, trying to figure out where MacGyver was hiding. The thudding on the door continued, drumming on Winder's nerves.

"Tell me why, Dennis." Mac's voice echoed around the room. Winder pointed his gun to the left, then to the right, not wanting to waste any more shots. He'd lost count of how many times he'd fired already. "You don't mind if I call you 'Dennis', do you? Tell me why you killed those people. Did Zito tell you to do it?"

"_**Doctor**_ Zito!" Winder spat. "The likes of you aren't fit to speak his name!"

MacGyver laughed. The sound bounced around like a bullet. Winder spun around, waving the gun dangerously. "I got news for you, Dennis. The likes of me has _met_ ol' Doc Zito before... **and** beat him at his own game. He's a psychopath and a homicidal maniac and if I never heard his name again, I'll be a happier man!"

"Why – _you _– !" Winder sputtered with indignation. He began shooting blindly into the darkness. A ricochet came back and nicked his ear, spilling blood wetly down his neck. The pounding at the door ceased, and a click sounded as the heavy bolts were drawn back. The door was unlocking!

Winder hurried blindly toward the stairs. He held his left hand across his body, touching the wall, the gun still clutched in his right hand. When he banged his shin on the first step of the stairs, turning his bark of triumphant laughter into a gasp of pain. He lifted his foot to the step just as the lights came on.

MacGyver was clinging to the metal struts on the other side of the stairs. His fist shot between the steps and caught Winder squarely on the chin. Winder stumbled backward and lost his grip on the gun. It fell from the catwalk, rattling down into the darkness under the platform.

The door swung open and David appeared, hurrying forward with his gun ready. Winder rolled over, clutching his jaw and reaching for the cane where it lay on the floor. David moved forward quickly and carefully placed his foot on Winder's hand. "Don't touch that," he said, looking up to see MacGyver where he was dangling under the stairs, "that was a gift for a friend of mine."

Mac grinned at him. "Thanks for coming!"

David wrestled Winder into a sitting position, cuffing his hands around a sturdy strut on the catwalk. He looked around casually. "Nice place you got here. Kinda cozy. Why'd you move out?"

Mac answered with a laugh, "It's too far from the water." He jerked his thumb toward the big telescope, unable to forgo the old joke. "But it does have a _great_ view!"

* * *

**Epilogue**

"... And after the kids fetched the caretaker, I had him let me into the Observatory. I told the kids to go down the hill and call the police. I had Barney shut off the power for five minutes, and then I used his card-key to override the lock. I figured that was safer than just bulling my way in and getting my own self shot."

Pete shook his head slowly; this had been one hell of a debriefing session. MacGyver was sitting with his leg up on Pete's desk, massaging it absently as he let David do the talking. "Are you okay, Mac?" Pete asked with concern. "You should have a doctor look at you..."

"I'm fine, Pete. Just got an unexpected workout today. I still got my prop!" He waved the cane as evidence. "And I used it, too, just like I promised!"

"Yeah … funny how you remembered _that _promise, but forgot the one about staying out of trouble!" Pete gave Mac a scowl. "I swear … I tell you that you aren't ready to go out into the field, and you go anyway. I mean … am I talking just to hear myself make noise?"

"How was I supposed to know that Winder was hiding out at Griffith Observatory?" Mac retorted with an air of injured innocence.

"Well, the next time you have a 'hunch' – I want you to call me so I can be ready. If David here hadn't been with you …" Pete's voice trailed off ominously.

It was _definitely_ time to change the subject.

"Pete, now that you mention it … I think that Mr. Johannes here is wasted as a security man. We need him as a field agent. What do you think?"

"I think I like him as a security man … seeing how he saved your life!" Years of experience with Mac's talent for shifting attention away from himself had taught Pete not to be easily turned aside.

"You're like an old dog on a bone, Pete!" Mac sighed. "David said you were a stubborn guy and he was right!"

Pete laughed along with Mac as David ducked his head in embarrassment. "Well, you _were_ right, David. And so is MacGyver. I'd like to recommend you to the field training program, if you're interested. You did good work today; you'll do more good 'out there'."

Unable to contain his excitement, David sprang to his feet to shake Pete's hand. "I will certainly give it serious consideration, Mr. Thornton. Thank you!"

"See," said Mac proudly, "a man who thinks before he acts … my protégé!"

"God help him," Pete mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Pete... what was that you said?"

Pete coughed and quickly said, "Now, David – go take some time off. You've earned it." David nodded and quietly left the office.

Once the doors closed, however, both Mac and Pete could hear someone holler "_Whoo-__**hoo**_!" just outside.

Mac chuckled and lifted his leg down from Pete's desk and stretched it out in front of him. His injury pulled a bit, and he was pretty sure that he'd feel it more later. Still, he was pleased; the situation had finally been resolved and soon the living would have justice and the dead would have peace. Mac's thoughts turned to Joshua Mahey and Tabatha Carr. He'd never met her and never would, but maybe now they could both rest.

Pete was sensitive to Mac's mood shift. Gently, he asked his friend, "So … do you think Winder will go for the insanity plea?"

Mac made a pensive face. "Probably… taking a page out of Zito's book, most likely, but I doubt that his lawyer will make it stick. The District Attorney is out for blood."

_And I don't blame him,_ Mac added silently.

"Mahey was a good cop," Pete said. "Kate Murphy will see to it that his role in solving this crime will be remembered … as well as Zito's part of it. Speaking of which," Pete pulled open a drawer and brought out something wrapped in paper. "I thought that you'd be interested to know what we found among Winder's personal things. He tried to burn it all, but the cloth that he wrapped everything up in turned out to be flame-retardant fabric. This survived the incinerator." Pete placed a smoke-blackened book on the desk in front of MacGyver.

Mac read the title aloud, "'Applied Logic For A Better World' . . . by _Dr. Zito_! He wrote a **book**?" Mac picked the thing up with obvious distaste.

"What else is he going to do while he's locked up for the rest of his life?" Pete said. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hands, as if the touch of Zito's book had left more than just soot on them. "The Constitution of the United States declares the right to free expression. You'd be surprised the amount of publicity received by books written by career criminals or people on death row. The public eats them up."

"So he literally did 'take a page out of Zito's book'." MacGyver felt suddenly tired. "Well, I guess this explains everything," he sighed, dropping the book back onto the wrapping.

"Explains what?" Pete asked, puzzled.

"Why Winder killed those people," Mac said, dusting his hands clean. "The devil made him do it."

_**fin**_

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks to all for your interest and support! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it and bringing it to you!_

_Special thanks to 'Beth for her patient editing and encouragement! _

_MacKisses to all!_

_-Loth _


End file.
